think the maintenance people left it here by mistake.” She rummages in a kitchen drawer then presents me with a paint covered box knife. As I work the window, she asks me several questions related to the area. My answers are succinct since I’m not really receptive to the Getting-to-Know-You game. The “Twenty Questions” moderator doesn’t get the hint though, and keeps on with the game. “So, how long have you lived here?”
“A few years.”
“Do you know many of the neighbors?”
“I don’t talk to the neighbors much, so I don’t know anything about them.” I’m hopeful my continued shortness helps her get the hint that I’m not interested in a conversation.
“Wow, you’re pretty quiet, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“So, what do you do for fun?”
I’m caught off guard by her question. I can’t recall when I’ve had fun, so I’m not sure how to respond. I stand up straight, rolling my shoulders back and craning my neck in a stretch, attempting to buy a little time for my answer. While I don’t particularly care what this girl thinks of me, I don’t want to come off like a total loser, either.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’ve bothered you enough this morning. You’ve been so nice, helping me out and all. I’m gonna…” she trails off and I go back to working the window, popping it open a few seconds later.
“I’ll see you around,” I tell her, raising the window to its fully open state. She quickly dismisses me with another small wave, and I leave to go back to my own little corner of the earth. Despite the fact that I’ve been in her unit for less than five minutes, it doesn’t escape my notice that there’s no furniture or a TV, just a mattress on the floor of her bedroom. Maybe the moving truck with her stuff hasn’t arrived yet , I think to myself. In the back of my mind, I know there isn’t more stuff coming. People like us don’t have stuff or the need for moving trucks.
~
I’m lying in bed, thinking about the stupid question she asked me. “What do you do for fun?” How could such a simple question send me into a tailspin?
That’s when I hear a whimper. It’s been a while since anyone’s lived next door, and the last guy who lived there was never home, so I’m used to quiet. The walls are thin in apartments like this, cheaply built and economically priced rental units. Much expense was spared in their construction. I’m certain we share no more than a few two-by-fours and two slabs of sheetrock as the wall. It doesn’t provide any more privacy than that found between bedrooms in the same home instead of two separate residences. I turn my head, thinking it will improve my ability to discern what I think I’m hearing. It doesn’t, but then I hear muted sobbing. That can only mean one thing—new neighbor girl is crying. I turn away, wanting the sound to stop; I don’t want to be involved.
The next morning shows no signs of life from my neighbor, but that’s no surprise. The noise coming from her side of the duplex kept me up well into the night, so I’m sure she’s sleeping in. I, on the other hand, take part in my free exercise routine — running. I do this early in the morning for two reasons: one, I avoid those who may feel the need to hassle me for money. They are not early risers, as hassling is a mid-morning and post-lunch activity. Two, it gets hot as fuck here in the summer, and running in 105 degree temperatures is just stupid.
I crest the hill on my street, nearly completing my three miles, and see her setting out the trash. New girl is looking around nervously, probably in hopes of going undetected since she’s barely dressed in her tiny shorts and tank top. It’s not leaving a whole hell of a lot to the imagination, and my mind wanders as I catch a glimpse at her ass. I see her throw a couple of empty boxes to the curb then turn and rush inside. I’m close enough that I can see the blackened bottoms of her feet
“A few years.”
“Do you know many of the neighbors?”
“I don’t talk to the neighbors much, so I don’t know anything about them.” I’m hopeful my continued shortness helps her get the hint that I’m not interested in a conversation.
“Wow, you’re pretty quiet, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“So, what do you do for fun?”
I’m caught off guard by her question. I can’t recall when I’ve had fun, so I’m not sure how to respond. I stand up straight, rolling my shoulders back and craning my neck in a stretch, attempting to buy a little time for my answer. While I don’t particularly care what this girl thinks of me, I don’t want to come off like a total loser, either.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’ve bothered you enough this morning. You’ve been so nice, helping me out and all. I’m gonna…” she trails off and I go back to working the window, popping it open a few seconds later.
“I’ll see you around,” I tell her, raising the window to its fully open state. She quickly dismisses me with another small wave, and I leave to go back to my own little corner of the earth. Despite the fact that I’ve been in her unit for less than five minutes, it doesn’t escape my notice that there’s no furniture or a TV, just a mattress on the floor of her bedroom. Maybe the moving truck with her stuff hasn’t arrived yet , I think to myself. In the back of my mind, I know there isn’t more stuff coming. People like us don’t have stuff or the need for moving trucks.
~
I’m lying in bed, thinking about the stupid question she asked me. “What do you do for fun?” How could such a simple question send me into a tailspin?
That’s when I hear a whimper. It’s been a while since anyone’s lived next door, and the last guy who lived there was never home, so I’m used to quiet. The walls are thin in apartments like this, cheaply built and economically priced rental units. Much expense was spared in their construction. I’m certain we share no more than a few two-by-fours and two slabs of sheetrock as the wall. It doesn’t provide any more privacy than that found between bedrooms in the same home instead of two separate residences. I turn my head, thinking it will improve my ability to discern what I think I’m hearing. It doesn’t, but then I hear muted sobbing. That can only mean one thing—new neighbor girl is crying. I turn away, wanting the sound to stop; I don’t want to be involved.
The next morning shows no signs of life from my neighbor, but that’s no surprise. The noise coming from her side of the duplex kept me up well into the night, so I’m sure she’s sleeping in. I, on the other hand, take part in my free exercise routine — running. I do this early in the morning for two reasons: one, I avoid those who may feel the need to hassle me for money. They are not early risers, as hassling is a mid-morning and post-lunch activity. Two, it gets hot as fuck here in the summer, and running in 105 degree temperatures is just stupid.
I crest the hill on my street, nearly completing my three miles, and see her setting out the trash. New girl is looking around nervously, probably in hopes of going undetected since she’s barely dressed in her tiny shorts and tank top. It’s not leaving a whole hell of a lot to the imagination, and my mind wanders as I catch a glimpse at her ass. I see her throw a couple of empty boxes to the curb then turn and rush inside. I’m close enough that I can see the blackened bottoms of her feet
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